


We Will Find a Way

by Justalittlelouislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Zayn, Famous Harry, Firefighter Liam, Writer Louis, mentions of ziam but mostly off screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13280307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalittlelouislove/pseuds/Justalittlelouislove
Summary: Louis's dreams are coming true, or he's almost there at least. And he's got the aid of a very helpful stranger who may or may not be his fairy godmother.





	We Will Find a Way

"Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are."

  
  


The thud of Louis’s bag on the floor echoes through the empty flat. Water drips slowly from a yellow stain on the ceiling. He peers dubiously at it, “Lovely.” 

The air in the flat is thick enough to swim through. The building is practically ancient, historic is what the landlord had called it. Louis had found out fairly quickly that ‘historic’ translates to: lacking any type of air conditioning and not designed to withstand the changing climate London is facing. Louis strides across the small living room, tossing his keys on the counter of the kitchen along the way, and yanks open the windows. 

A slight breeze floats into the room, carrying with it the sounds of early morning in the city and mercifully dropping the temperature a couple degrees. Louis turns his back to the window leans against the sill, taking in his tiny new flat. 

“Home sweet home,” he says with a sigh. 

He tries to remind himself of what really matters. He might be in a flat the size of a shoe box with a water stain on the ceiling and a leaking faucet, he might been looking at spending the hottest summer London has ever seen with no air conditioning, and yeah he’s probably going be eating a steady diet of greasy take out now that he’s not got his mum to cook for him, but he’s  _ here.  _ He’s actually made it to London, he’s made it one step closer to living out his dreams as a published author, and if it takes some sacrifice to make that dream come true so be it. 

Niall and Liam’s bickering precedes their arrival at the front door. 

“If you don’t clean as you go, you’re left with a huge mess at the end.” 

“There’s no reason for us to bring the cleaning products up first,” Liam says, brow furrowed in frustration. “First you bring up the heavy stuff and then you bring up the little things.” 

Niall rolls his eyes and drops a broom and a Swiffer on the floor in a pile. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Liam.” He spins on his heel and stomps back down the stairs.

Liam stares at after him in disbelief. “What does that even mean,” He grumbles with a shake of his head. 

Louis laughs and pushes away from the sill, walking over to Liam. “Probably something terribly Irish, mate. No sense in trying to figure it out.” Slinging an arm over his shoulders, he leads Liam out the door. “Come on, let’s go supervise him before he starts bringing up the q-tips one at a time.” 

Two hours later, armed with a couple pizzas and a handful of DVDs, Zayn comes through the front door to find the three of them spread around the flat in various states of exhaustion. Niall is sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by pots and pans, staring at the cabinets in front of him with glazed over eyes. Louis is curled up next to the telly, a smudge of dirt on his cheek, different colored wires in his hand, and a frustrated look on his face. Liam is flat on his back under the window, arms and legs spread eagle, and he’s humming what sounds like Toxic under his breath. He stops when he hears Zayn snort but doesn’t actually bother getting up. 

“Zaynie,” He says, alerting the others to Zayn’s presence. “Please tell me that’s pizza I’m smelling and I’ve not entered some torturous mirage.” 

“If it were a mirage he wouldn’t tell you so, Lame Payne,” Louis says with a flippant roll of his eyes. He tosses the wires to the side and scrambles up to take the pizza from Zayn and bring it into the kitchen. 

“How do you know, Louis,” Liam asks, sounding genuinely curious. “It’s like a dream innit, maybe in my dreams, Zayn is honest with me.” 

“I’m always honest with you, babes,” Zayn says, pulling apart the pizza and taking a bite. “Even in your dreams.” 

Louis smacks the pizza out of his hand. He knows the rules about sweet talking Liam in his presence. 

Disgusting. 

“It’s not a dream, the both of you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis hops up on the counter, holding the pizza his hand so the grease doesn’t drip on to the floor. The plates are in a box.. Somewhere. “The whole point of a mirage is dishonesty. That’s how it pulls you in and drags you to your death.” 

“No,” Niall says with a shake of his head. Louis’s statement seems to have woken him from his organization induced coma. Lore talk usually does that to him. “You’re thinking about a siren, mate. A mirage is just an optical illusion, it’s not like a demon or anything.” 

“Why would a siren be here, Niall,” Liam argues nonsensically, “we aren’t underwater.” 

“I didn’t say there is a siren  _ here _ , I just said Louis is confusing the two,” Niall says around his pizza, “plus siren’s don’t live underwater. That’s mermaids.” 

Zayn finishes scraping up his pizza off the counter and walks over to Liam and kicks at his leg gently until he throws up his hand and allows himself to be dragged up from the floor. 

“The point babe,” Zayn says, holding Liam’s cheeks between his hands, “is the pizza is real. So come eat it.” 

Liam leans against the counter and takes Louis’s pizza from him just as he goes to take another bite. Zayn hands Louis another piece. “Do we have anything to drink,” He asks before Louis has time to complain about Liam’s behavior. Last week Liam had pinned Louis to the floor for seven minutes when he referred to him as an untrained monkey. 

It had taken seven minutes for Niall to find and fill a bucket with cold water. 

“Fridge,” Niall says, gesturing towards it with his chin. 

Zayn hands a beer to each of them and props his hip against the counter, facing Louis. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow then.” 

Tomorrow. Monday. The first day of the first week of his brand new life. It’s not intimidating at all. 

It’s not. 

“Gonna unpack a little,” Louis says, taking a quick sip of his beer. “Got a meeting with an editor in the afternoon.” 

Niall flips open the pizza box and grabs another slice. “I’m off tomorrow, I’ll come by in the morning and help you unpack.” 

Liam pats Niall’s cheek obnoxiously, “You’re so sweet, Ni.” He giggles when Niall smacks at his hand. 

“That’s why I’m his favorite,” Niall retorts smugly. 

“I love all my children equally,” Louis says around a bite of pizza. “Play nicely.” 

Zayn snorts and they all lapse into a companionable silence. 

Until Liam puts his beer down with a thud, drawing all of their eyes, and dons his serious face, aiming it at Niall. 

“So, siren’s are the ones with the feather’s then?” 

Louis punctuates their collective groan with a flying slice of pizza straight to Liam’s face. 

* * *

 

The next morning, when Louis shuffles into the kitchen, he finds Niall already knee deep in boxes. He realizes as he’s starting a pot of tea, that he should have expected as much. Niall has a serious case of OCD and the idea of Louis’s flat being in a total state of disarray probably had him up half the night. 

“Nice of you to let yourself in. You want a cuppa,” Louis asks, sleep still sticking to his voice. “I’ve only got real tea, mind you. None of this London stuff Liam’s started buying.” 

Niall snorts. “No thanks mate, had a cup before I came.” He furrows his brows at the contents of one of the boxes. Probably displeased with the way Louis had just throw everything in haphazardly. “It took me like 13 seconds to pick the lock, you ought to have Liam change it.”  

Louis splashes a bit of milk in his cup and leans against the counter. “You do know that breaking and entering is illegal, right?” 

“You’re the one who taught me how to,” Niall points out with a shrug, arranging the frying pans carefully. 

“Yes, well I trusted you didn’t I,” Louis says, taking a sip. The tea is too hot, but he needs the caffeine too much to wait. It burns all the way down. 

“Who’s fault is it really then,” Niall asks. He looks up at Louis and narrows his eyes. “Did you just burn yourself?” 

“No,” Louis lies, blinking back tears. 

Niall shakes his head, eyes back on the box. “Whatever, go set up the telly  so I have something to do tonight until you come home.” 

“You only love me for my Netflix.” 

“Yup.” 

As Louis plops himself down on the floor next to the tv and surveys the tangle of wires, he reminds himself again that being here is being one step closer to his dream. 

It helps. 

“Alright, Niall I’m off,” Louis says, yanking a t-shirt over his head and checking his hair in the reflection of the fridge. “You good here on your own?” 

From the couch, Niall gives him a thumbs up, eyes glued to whatever he’s watching on Netflix. The tv had been a bitch to set up, and now it’s clear that Niall will not be separating from it any time soon. “Good luck, mate.” 

Louis shoves his feet into his trainers with a smile. “My own personal dose of Irish luck, how can I fail?” 

Niall waves him through the door with a laugh. Walking quickly towards the stairs, he pulls out his phone to check the address again, nerves getting to him a bit. He doesn’t realize he’s walking directly towards someone else until they collide. Throwing his arms out, he manages to brace himself on the wall and avoid falling on his face. 

The other man is not as lucky. He’s a delivery man it seems, carrying about five large cardboard boxes that wobble precariously before falling, scattering around the hall between them. Louis recognizes the label on the boxes from the summer he’d spent working as a nanny for the richest family in town. It’s one of those professional chef grocery delivery services.

Louis rushes forward. “I’m so sorry.” Grabbing some of the boxes, he stacks them up on the floor. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” 

The man, Frank it says on his stitched name tag, gives him a friendly smile. “No worries. I’m not really supposed to carry all these at once anyway, but I didn’t want to make two trips. Couldn’t see over the top of the stack,” He says with a chuckle, placing the box he had managed to hold on to atop the pile Louis made. “They’ve all got bubble wrapping and such inside anyhow, so no harm no foul.” 

Louis nods his head, relieved. “Can I help you carry them anywhere?” He doesn’t really have time for that, but he feels awful for being such a prat and almost knocking this poor man right smack on the floor. 

“Oh no,” Frank says, nudging his chin towards the door of the flat just a couple feet down the hall. “This is actually where I’m dropping off.”

Well, that’s a relief. At least Louis hadn’t made him late for his delivery. 

“Well, Frank it was lovely bumping into you,” Louis says with a wink, fixing his fringe a little. “Hopefully I’ll see you around.” 

Frank gives him a small salute and a smile.  “I’m here every Monday, grocery delivery to flat number 28. Been almost two years now.” 

Louis’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline in surprise. “Wow, you must be best mates by now.” 

“Nope never met the guy actually,” Frank says with a shrug. “He always gives specific instructions to drop off and go, no signature needed.” 

Well, that's probably not unprecedented, but such expensive food just dropped off in the hall, in this type of building? Seems a little risky is all.

As Louis heads out of the building and makes his way towards the tube, he can’t help but wonder why someone who can afford expensive grocery delivery would live in a place like this. And why they would be so careless about having it dropped off.  It’s a nice distraction from his nerves, that works all the way up until he’s standing in front of the building that’s home to his editor's office. 

He takes a deep breath and plasters on a smile. 

Showtime. 

 

“So, it wasn’t really bad news,” Zayn says around what sounds like a paintbrush. “Just more of the same news.” 

Louis jogs up the steps of his building and balances his phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can grasp the old, rusty door with both hands and yank. “Yeah, just another rewrite.” 

“How many is this now, three?” 

Louis nods before realizing that Zayn can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah. It’s three.” He gives a little sigh. “But he keeps reminding me that most people don’t even get past the manuscript phase. He seemed pretty confident this edit will be just what they want.” 

Taking the steps two at a time, Louis heads for his floor. There’s a questionable stain on the second-floor landing, he skirts it while Zayn hums thoughtfully. 

“One step closer then, innit,” Zayn says, voice once again muffled by whatever he’s talking around. Louis thinks it might be a cigarette actually. And maybe they have known each other entirely too long if Louis can tell the difference. “Soon you’ll be rolling in money and signing autographs.” 

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls open the stairway door to his hall. “Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “I can see it now, cash, cars, glory. Ten grand a pop just for a night at the pub.” 

Zayn giggles, a sound really only the boys ever get to hear. “Yup, sounds just like you.” 

Louis shakes his head, smiling. What a dork. 

A movement down the hall draws his eye and stops short of a second. “Hey, I’ve got to go,” He whispers quickly into the phone. He doesn’t wait for a reply before ending the call and shoving the phone into his back pocket. 

The door to flat number 28 is open towards him, so whoever is picking up the boxes from the hallway is obscured. But, for some reason, Louis feels a burning curiosity to find out who it is. He speeds up his steps a little, intent on introducing himself to his new neighbor. 

But, the faster pace always turns out to be louder. As he comes up on the door, the mystery resident must hear the way the floorboards groan a little, because the last box drops to the floor of the hall with a thump and the door slams shut. 

Louis stands in front of the door blinking quickly, completely perplexed. It seems that the mystery resident wants to remain a mystery. His eyes fall to the last remaining box and he contemplates picking it up and knocking on the door to give it to its owner. 

While he stands there, thinking it over, a teenage kid armed with bags of take-out comes marching down the hall. He walks past Louis and stops in front of Louis’s flat, ringing the doorbell. 

The realization that Niall must have ordered lunch is enough to pull him away from the case of the shy neighbor and the forgotten groceries. 

* * *

 

The fire alarm is going off again. 

This is the fourth time this week. And the landlord has already been by twice to talk to Louis about the complaints he’s getting. 

“Liam,” Louis says in a dejected tone of voice, waving an oven mitt at the smoke detector. Luckily he’s yet to close windows in the flat even once, as it’s still hot as the devil's boxer briefs, so the smoke has somewhere to go. “Check the chicken will you?” 

With a sigh, Liam gets up from the couch and marches into the kitchen to pull open the oven. He doesn’t look at all surprised at what he finds. “It’s on fire,” he reports. “Well, it was I guess. Just burnt to hell now.” 

Louis throws the mitt down on the counter, glaring at the smoke detector until it shuts off. It’s just a constant  _ loud _ reminder of the fact that he has yet to make himself even one edible meal. 

“How am I supposed to survive on my own,” Louis asks, taking out the chicken and plopping it on the stove top. “I’m going to starve!” 

Liam opens the fridge to grab a water bottle and looks at him from around the door, unimpressed. 

“Why don’t you just ask Niall how he does his chicken?” 

Louis looks at him like he’s grown another head. “Oh no, I’ve seen Niall’s chicken.” 

Liam blinks. “Really,” He asks sweetly, “Was it on fire?” 

And. Well, point well made really. But, still. 

“I’m not asking Niall. Hold that open,” Louis says, handing Liam a garbage bag so he can help throw away the chicken instead of standing around critiquing Louis’s whole life. “I’m a grown man, Liam. I need to make it on my own. I’ve struck out, got my own place. I need to hunt, forage, be the master of my own destiny. 

Liam nods. “Take out then.” 

“Menus are in the drawer.” 

 

Two days later, when Louis opens the door to throw his trash down the shoot, there’s a covered dish waiting for him on his welcome mat. 

He brings it inside, and upon further inspection finds only that there is no note from the sender and that its a casserole of some sort. It’s still warm, which rules out his mum, and further perplexes him. Whoever dropped it off couldn’t have done it that long ago, why wouldn’t they have knocked?

He sniffs it curiously and his mouth waters. It smells and looks amazing, but it’s probably not smart to try it. It could be poison for all he knows. He’s not really led the kind of life that would have people turning up left and right to kill him, but the point still stands. 

He’s typing out a text to Zayn, weighing the pros and cons, when Niall comes in through the front door. Louis puts his phone down with a smile. 

“Hey, Niall,” he says. “Hungry?” 

Niall shrugs, matching his smile, and walks over. “Could always eat. What’s that?” 

“This, my dear friend,” Louis says, dropping his arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Is a very possibly poisoned but very tasty looking casserole from an unidentified sender.” 

Niall hums, nodding his head as he stares down at the dish. “Just turned up?” 

“Yup, was waiting on my doorstep. Abandoned by its mother it seems.” 

‘Would be very stupid to eat it. Could be anything in there.” It’s true. But he’s using the same tone of voice he’d used the time he ate the sushi from the Petrol station.

Louis nods in agreement. “Arsenic.” 

“Yup, bleach maybe,” Niall points out. 

“Razor blades even.” 

Niall raises his eyebrows at that, impressed with the suggestion. In silent contemplation, they stare down at the casserole dish together. Two minutes tick by before Nial turns to him with a smile and a small shrug. 

“Well, get me a fork then.” 

Niall is taking his fourth bite when Louis’s phone vibrates. He tears his eyes away from Niall, who he’d been diligently watching for any signs of impending death, and checks the screen. 

It’s Zayn.  _ Is Niall there, he’s not answering _

Louis glances back up at Niall, who is happily munching away. Decidedly not blue or choking. 

Doing pretty well all around, really. 

_ Yeah he’s here.  _

And, well why the hell not? 

_ I got a casserole from a mystery sender this morning.  _

Zayn’s response is immediate. 

_ DO NOT FEED IT TO NIALL! _

Louis doesn’t bother answering. 

 

It takes approximately 13 minutes for Liam and Zayn to come bursting in through the front door. Actually, it’s more accurate to say that Zayn burst in, Liam more ambles in behind him sheepishly. 

“Took you long enough,” Niall says with a mischievous smile, licking his fork. 

Liam blushes slightly, walking into the kitchen to grab a paper towel and press it to the back of his head. “I was in the shower.” 

Zayn brushes past him and barrels up to Louis, poking him in the chest, hard. “You could have killed him!” 

Louis rubs at his chest. Zayn might be comparable to a bird in many ways, but he’s a tough guy when he’s all riled up. 

“He did,” Niall says, resting his chin on the palm of his hand casually. “After the first bite, I died straight away. Saw my dog I lost in primary. I’m gonna ring my mom actually, she told me he went to live on a beautiful farm on the countryside.” 

Louis snorts into his tea, making a mess. Zayn looks like he’s contemplating strangling him. 

Liam wraps his arm around Zayn’s middle from behind him and pulls him close, leveling Niall and Louis with a look. “I don’t think it’s the right time for jokes, lads,” He says lowly. 

Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “He’s not dead, it’s not poison.” He waves his hand at Niall. “Look, he’s fine. Who would want to poison me anyway?” 

“I’m starting to see the appeal,” Zayn grumbles pulling out of Liam’s hold and stomping to the fridge. 

Liam leans over the counter, inspecting the casserole curiously. “Was it good?” 

Niall nods, taking a sip of his water. “Yeah, proper tasty. Chicken and cheese of some kind.” 

“And now it’s going to be my lunch for the week,” Louis says happily. “Do you want to try some Liam, there’s plenty.” 

Liam gives a small shrug. “I’ll-” 

“Liam.” Zayn snaps, slamming the fridge door shut and fixing him with a glare so frigid Louis is pretty sure he can see icicles forming on Liam’s nose hairs. 

“I’ll not,” Liam continues, looking Zayn’s expression and cringing slightly. “I’ll not try any, is what I was going to say.” 

Louis can’t really blame him. Zayn is probably no more than 120 pounds soaking wet, and most definitely half of Liam’s size, but he fights dirty and he can hold a grudge even longer than Louis can. 

And Liam once told him in a tear and vodka soaked confession that he’s not afraid to withhold sex.

Zayn strides out of the room, muttering darkly under his breath, and plops onto the couch. Niall wordlessly slides his fork across the counter to Liam. Louis sets down his tea and makes his way over to the couch, partly to apologize and partly to ensure Liam doesn’t get caught. 

He somehow manages to convince Zayn to do some really cool superhero artwork for a thank you note that Louis tapes to his door. So everyone wins really. 

* * *

 

A crack of thunder, loud enough to shake his bed, wakes him with a start. Hand pressed to where his heart is slamming in his chest, he lays back down against his pillows and pulls the duvet up around his shoulders. 

“Alright, Louis, calm down,” he says to himself. “It’s only a storm. You’re not in primary anymore.” 

His heart rate eventually goes back to normal, but after several minutes of staring at the ceiling and listening to the heavy rainfall, Louis gives up on falling back to sleep. With a sigh, he drags himself out of bed, grabs his laptop, and heads into the living room. 

Where he finds it is raining  _ inside _ his flat. 

There are now two water stains on the ceiling, both of which are dripping a steady flow of water onto the floor, soaking the carpet in huge puddles. 

“Just fucking great.” Scrambling into the kitchen, he grabs two pots from Niall’s meticulously organized cabinet - which Louis does have to admit would have taken much longer had he organized it himself- and shoves plops them down under the spots to let them catch the water. 

He stands there for a while, listening to the clink clink clink of the rain falling into the pots. It’s a little therapeutic. It’s shit, it’s still shit that he’s got not one but two leaks in his flat, but the noise is kind of therapeutic. 

There’s nothing to be done about it now, he reasons. It’s not like he can call someone in the dead of night to go out in a storm and fix his roof. So, he does the only thing that he ever really wants to do, when he’s stressed, when he’s tired, when he’s hurt, when he’s happy. 

He starts a pot of tea, grabs his laptop and the blanket his mother had given him as a going away gift, and writes.

* * *

 

“I’ve underappreciated my mum, Nialler.” 

Niall lowers his newspaper and raises a brow, looking over the top in confusion. “What are you on about? You call the woman every day. Didn’t you send her flowers just last week?” 

Trifles. Scanty, inconsequential, trivial shows of affection. 

“It’s not enough.” Shoving a shirt into the washing machine aggressively, he shakes his head. “The poor woman had to go through this torture for years, and all I get her is flowers?” 

Niall nudges the bottle of detergent towards him with his foot. “It’s just laundry you idiot.” 

Why are there so many buttons on this godforsaken machine? It’s probably easier to bring it down to the river and beat his jeans against a rock. 

“It’s torture,” Louis corrects, narrowing his eyes at the machine. “What the fuck is permanent press?” 

Rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath, Niall gets up from his chair and pushes Louis aside. “Just set the size, pick the temperature, and start the timer. It’s not like you’ve got the Queen’s knickers in here for fuck's sake.” 

The machine rumbles to life, filling with water and Louis stares at it loathingly. 

“Alright,” Niall says cheerfully, folding his newspaper up and heading towards the door. “Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

Zayn’s been going through a pretty heavy spray paint phase. His flat is filled with the fumes on a pretty constant basis. Louis thinks maybe Niall hanging out there has cost him a few brain cells. 

“Niall, I just started the washing.” 

“Technically, I think I started it,” Niall says, sliding the newspaper under his arm. 

Louis plops down in the chair and ignores Niall’s comment. Which is pretty magnanimous of him, if he’s honest. 

“I can’t leave, I’ve got to switch the clothes to the dryer and then fold them so I have something to wear for my meeting in the morning. There’s a new casserole in the fridge, heat up some of that.” 

The washer gives a jolt, rattling ominously. Both men turn to stare at it while it starts to jump around a bit, noises getting louder. 

“We’re going to get lunch, get up. I don’t want your magic reappearing casserole. I want chips.No one literally sits and waits for their washing to finish,” Niall says, still eyeing the washer wearily. “You can’t spend the rest of your afternoon in this damp basement.” 

Casting a quick glance at his surroundings - unfinished concrete walls, dingy and fogged up half windows, and something in the corner that could be a forgotten sweater or a sleeping critter- Louis has got to admit Niall may be on to something. 

“Alright, just a quick nip down to the chippy,” He concedes with a sigh, getting up. He points a finger at Niall and raises his voice of the man’s whoop of success. “But that’s it! Then we come back, I’m serious.” 

Niall nods along holding open the door so Louis can pass through and they start the ascent back up to Louis’s floor.  As they climb the steps, he fills Louis in on everything that’s been going on at work. Listening to him retell all the drama surrounding his teenage student’s lives like he’s an reporter for E! News, Louis can’t help but think that maybe Niall has become a bit too invested. 

“So, Mandy ended it with him obviously,” Niall says seriously, a little winded as they reach the landing of Louis’s floor. “He’s a proper dick that guy. Always complaining about how much time she was spending practicing. I told her, fuck ‘im! She’ll always have a guitar, guys come and go.” 

Louis nods sagely, fighting back a smirk so hard he’s probably going to start cramping up if he keeps it up. “That’s very wise of you, Nailler. And what about you, will you be carving your initials into a tree with someone soon. Any dances coming up?” 

Predictably, Niall cackles, shoving Louis’s shoulder and sending him bouncing off the wall. “Shut up, you tit. Don’t take the piss, I care about my students alright?” 

Louis puts his hand up in a sign of peace. They come upon his flat door and he opens it and then leans against the door while Niall runs in to grab his keys and wallet. And then waits a little longer when he orders Niall go back in a grab a  jumper for Louis to combat the autumn temperatures that are finally descending upon them. When he bounds back into the hall, Louis takes hold of his wrist and spins him around. Grabbing hold of either side of his face, he stares into his eyes seriously. 

It says something about their friendship that Niall just watches him intently, waiting. 

“Repeat after me,” Louis orders. “We are going to the chippy and then coming right back home.” 

“We are going to the chippy and then coming right back home,” Niall says immediately, words a little garbled by the way Louis is squishing his cheeks. 

“We are not hanging out, we are not getting drunk,” Louis continues, quirking a brow. 

“No hanging out, no getting drunk.” 

“Louis has laundry to finish so he can be ready for a very important business meeting in the morning and if I make him miss it by distracting him, I will be his slave for life,” Louis says, daring Niall to argue the verbal contract of lifetime servitude. 

They probably look like idiots, standing in the middle of the hallway, Niall’s face smashed between Louis’s hands. But, it’s very important to be firm with Niall in such matters. 

“We will come back in time to get the washing done, or I will be Louis’s slave for life,” Niall mumbles. 

“Louder, Niall. I didn’t hear that.” 

“We will come back in time to get the washing done so that you can make your fucking meeting or I will be your slave for life, you cunt,” Niall shouts at the top of his lungs. 

Louis smiles and pat’s Niall’s cheek approvingly. “Good boy.” 

 

Par for the course, Zayn meets them at the chippy. Liam, the only one of them with a full time job albeit it with a bit of a strange schedule as he is a firefighter (a profession Louis is pretty sure Liam chose only because he doesn’t possess the funds to be Batman) very rarely has the availability in his schedule to fuck off in the middle of the day. 

Zayn, however, is a full-blown artist now, with his art in galleries and selling to all parts of the world. Aside from art shows once or twice a month, Zayn gets full rein over his hours. He’s better at fucking off in the middle of the day than any of them. 

“Lads, I’ve got news,” Zayn proclaims, plopping down into a chair next to Niall and throwing his arm around his shoulders. “I got an email from the curator down at my last gallery opening. Some prat with more money than sense just bought every single piece from the ‘Lifeline’ collection.” 

Louis nearly chokes on his tea. “All of them?!”

Zayn nods his head, smiling widely. Niall looks close to falling out of his chair. “How much..Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Zayn how much did you make off that?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, how rude. But..yeah how much? 

“A lot,” Zayn says excitedly. “Enough.” 

Louis blinks, waiting. Zayn has a bit of a dramatic side. 

“10,000 pounds,” He gushes, leaning forward with an amazed look on his face, swinging his head to look at Niall and Louis, then back to Niall. “Can you fucking believe it?” 

Niall’s eyes bug out of his head. He pulls Zayn into a bone-crushing hug while Louis looks on, smiling proudly. “So how does Liam feel about pictures of various parts of his body being hung up in some blokes flat?” 

Zayn tips his head down, rolling his shoulders back when Niall lets go. Probably trying to realign his spine. “He doesn’t know yet actually. I was thinking,” He pauses to drop his eyes to the table and take a breath. “I was thinking about going over and putting a downpayment down on that flat Liam’s been talking about.” 

For a solid 30 seconds, everyone freezes. Zayn’s expression is a mix of fear and excitement, he worries his bottom lip a little bit, waiting. 

Louis leans forward. “Down payment as in, buying. Not renting,” he clarifies. “Buying a house with Liam you mean.” 

Zayn blinks and lets his lip fall from his teeth. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” 

Niall and Louis’s eyes meet from across the table. Abruptly and in complete unison, they stand up, their chairs teetering. 

Zayn looks between them, utterly confused. “What’s going on?” 

“We’ve got to go,” Niall says simply, standing next to Zayn’s chair expectantly. 

Zayn turns to Louis. “Go where?” 

“The pub,” Louis says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

Zayn stays resolutely in his chair, blinking his mile-long lashes and obviously wondering if he’s missed something essential. 

“What-” 

Niall groans and hauls him up out of the chair. He shoves him forward and Louis catches him, holding him at arm's length and smiling. “We’ve got to celebrate!” 

Zayn’s responding smile is blinding. 

While they do a spectacular job getting Zayn properly and thoroughly pissed, Niall has an afternoon guitar lesson scheduled with one of his students across town, so they leave the pub before Louis has anything more than a buzz going. So, when he wakes up in the morning with only half an hour to spare before his meeting with his publishing house and realizes that he in fact never finished his laundry, he only has himself to blame. 

Cursing himself for being so damn over excited about Zayn’s decision to finally take the next step in he and Liam’s relationship, he scrambles out of bed. He’d come home and called his mom, giving her the news and chatting with her for a while excitedly. One thing had led to another and he’d ended up falling asleep atop his covers, some romantic comedy playing on Netflix. 

He shakes his head, disappointed in himself while he shoves his legs into his only pair of joggers left and pulls on a ratty t-shirt. He’ll have to just run the dryer for a couple minutes and pray his clothes dry while he’s running full tilt down the road on the way to the meeting. He deserves the torture of pulling on wet jeans, he muses to himself dejectedly. 

But, when he rips open the door and prepares to throw himself into the hall at full speed, he nearly breaks his neck on a basket. His basket, to be specific, he realizes after closer inspection. His basket full of his clothes, all mercifully dry and neatly folded. 

He stares at it, mouth agape, bewildered. He spots a tiny square of paper sticking out from under a jumper and he pulls it out, reading it quickly and then turning it over in search of more of an explanation. It only reads “thanks for the cool drawings”- no signature, no anything. And it takes a moment for Louis to understand the message because he’s never drawn something for anyone, save the stick figure he’d once drawn on Liam’s face when he’d fallen asleep too early. But, with a jolt he realizes, the message is referring to Zayn’s drawings, the ones on the thank you cards he’d taped to the door after each casserole had turned up at his door. 

So, unless Louis has a fairy godmother, whoever has been making him weekly casseroles also finished, folded, and brought up his laundry. Honestly, the fairy godmother option sounded pretty likely. He doesn’t really have time to think about it just then though, so he pulls the clothes inside and throws on the first outfit he finds before rushing out the door. 

When he’s in the back of the cab heading to the meeting, he pulls out his phone, sending Zayn a text. 

_ What do you know about fairies?  _

Three dots show up instantly.  _ Good morning to you too. That's a slur you know.  _

Louis rolls his eyes. _ Not a fairy like me during my first year of Uni, a fairy with wings and shit. A wand maybe.  _

_ I would say you were more of a twink.  _

Sometimes Zayn is so incredibly unhelpful it’s practically painful. 

_ I should have asked Niall.  _

_ Duh.  _

Louis can’t help but laugh, and as the cab rolls to a stop he hops out with a smile, handing the man his fare. He takes a second before entering the building to text Niall. 

_ Do you know anything about fairies?  _

Niall doesn’t answer right away. It’s not until he’s in the elevator heading to the fourth floor that his phone dings. When he reads the response he cackles, scandalizing the other occupants. 

_ I’m fucking Irish you idiot.  _

Louis walks into his meeting armed with his latest revision of his novel and a smile. 

 

Louis bursts into his flat so suddenly and with so much force, Liam nearly falls of his ladder in fright. 

Breathless, Louis narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you on a ladder?” 

Liam climbs down, rubbing at his heart like he’d been given a stroke. “Niall told me your kitchen light needed replacing,” he says with a shrug. “I have off today.” 

Louis toes off his shoes. “Perfect, call Zayn then.” 

“I’m here,” Zayn grumbles from under a mountain of blankets on the couch, very nearly startling Louis half to death and taking off at least five years of his life. 

“What in the hell are you doing,” Louis shouts. “You better not be naked under there.” 

He can’t see Zayn’s eyes, the only thing he can actually see is the top of his head, but he can still tell he’s glaring at him. “Why would I be naked on your couch, Lou?” 

Louis strides over to him and yanks off the blankets, ignoring the way he squawks at him. “You know damn bloody well why would you be naked under there.” 

From in the kitchen, Liam snorts. 

Zayn sighs, pulling the blankets back up. “I’m just cold and you have all the windows open,” he grumbles, sounding like he’s taken up gargling with marbles. “It’s October why are the windows open?” 

Louis shrugs, grabbing the remote and turning off the tv, much to Zayn’s annoyance. “Why didn’t you just shut them then? I like fresh air.” 

Liam shuts the ladder with a loud slam and strides out of the kitchen with it under his arm. “I told him that, and that we were going to keep them open,” he says pointedly. “And it wouldn’t matter, had he taken his coat like I told him to.” 

Zayn sits up, bracing his arm on the back of the couch, obviously ready for an argument. Louis smacks him full in the face with a pillow. Liam drops the ladder. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Louis screeches, running around the other side of the couch as Zayn angrily tries to disentangle himself from the blankets, probably intent on strangling Louis with an extension cord or something. “I have news, can’t you tell I have news! Call Niall!” 

From in the bedroom, Niall’s voice calls out sleepily. “Call me what?” 

Louis glares at Liam. “Is there anyone else in the flat, Liam? Honestly.” Keeping an eye on Zayn, he skirts a little further away. “Niall come here, what are you doing?” 

He pads into the room in socked feet, rubbing at his eyes. “Taking a nap, obviously.” 

Louis is about to point out that there’s no reason for him to be taking a nap in Louis’s flat but thinks better of it. “They accepted my revision,” he blurts out. 

Everyone freezes. Zayn, finally free of the blankets, stands across the couch from him and blinks twice. “What..” He starts, then swings his eyes to Liam and back to Louis. “What does that mean exactly?” 

“It means,” Louis rocks forward on his toes, excitement vibrating off his skin like static electricity. “That in a month’s time, my book, _ my _ book for fucks sake, will be in the bookstore just down the street. A bookstore in London, my book!”  

Niall moves first, striding across the room and bodily picking him up in a bear hug and swinging him around gleefully. As he spins around, Louis sees Liam drop the ladder and rush forward, while Zayn clambers over the back of the couch and leaps onto them. 

They lay together in a heap on the floor, until Niall clears his throat officially. “Well lads, you know what this calls for.” 

“Pints,” Zayn asks. 

Louis turns his head towards the ceiling. “Pints,” he shouts at the top of his lungs. And like it’s some kind of battle cry, they all scramble up and start getting ready, heading for the pub. 

The world is upside down. Louis is pretty sure. Louis is pretty sure that the entire world, sometime between his third shot and right this moment, the world flipped upside down. Laying in the hallway outside of his door, he contemplates the idea that maybe just his building flipped upside down. 

Why would a building do that? He decides to call Niall and get his thoughts on the subject. 

Niall picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” He sounds funny, more Irish maybe. 

“Nialler, my building turned upside down,” Louis informs him, slurring his words horribly. “Isn’t that ridiculous?” 

Niall burps loudly. “I knew I should have walked you up mate, are you inside?” 

Louis waves a hand around dismissively, accidentally whacking it on the wall painfully. Well shit. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Shifting, he leans his back against the wall. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow yeah?” 

Looking down he sees his keys laying on the floor and picks them up. See, he can do this! 

Niall hesitates but gives in. “Okay, love you Tommo.” 

“You fucking better.” Louis smiles at Niall's belly laugh before he ends the call. 

Getting up, getting up is his next goal. 

With a sigh, he pushes his weight forward and stumbles up onto his feet, bracing his hand against the wall. The hallway swims, moving in and out of focus. “Oh fuck,” Louis whispers before his knees give out and his eyes fall shut, staying that way. 

When he blinks back into consciousness, someone is carrying him through his flat, bridal style. His neck doesn’t seem to want to corporate, his head isn’t tilting back so he can’t see who it is, but Liam is the most likely suspect. 

He doesn’t smell like Liam though. “Liam,” Louis slurs, nuzzling against his chest a bit. “Liam why do you smell like apples?” 

His chest rumbles with a deep laugh, but he doesn’t respond. Louis furrows his brow, annoyed, but then his brain swims a little bit as he drops a bit and lands on his bed. His duvet gets pulled up to his shoulders and Louis looks up, snuggling in, and blinks rapidly. 

“You’re not Liam.” His brain is fighting valiantly against the drunken haze swirling around in his brain and he thinks somewhere in the back of his head there might be alarm bells ringing. 

The stranger looks up from tucking Louis in and pins him with the greenest pair of eyes he’s ever seen. “No, I’m not,” mumbles matter of factly. 

“Your voice is very deep,” Louis says, trying to mimic the sound on the last word. Laughing at the sound. 

The stranger smiles, and Louis reaches up to poke a dimple, but misses and his arm drops back to the bed. “I’m proper smashed.” 

Standing, the stranger nods at him. “Yes, you are.” 

A breeze floats in through the open bedroom window and goosebumps pop up along Louis’s arms. He slides deeper under the duvet and blinks his heavy lids at the stranger. “Is this a dream?” 

“Are you cold,” the man asks instead of answering the question. “I could shut the window.” 

Louis shakes his head, eyelids drooping against his will. “No, don’t. I like..I like the um-”. And just a second ago he’d known what he’d meant to say. 

“You like the fresh air, I know.” 

Louis smiles, pleased. “Yes, that’s it. Good remembering, Liam.” 

 

Louis wakes up in the morning to a glass of water and two  Paracetamol on his nightstand and a whole lot of confusing memories. 

“You’re sure he didn’t take anything,” Liam asks for the 100th time, arms crossed over his chest and mouth set in a grim line. 

Louis looks up from his bowl of cereal and meets Niall’s gaze from across the table. Niall smirks at his obvious irritation. “Yes, Liam.” 

Liam strides across the room, checking the front door for any signs of tampering. Like he’s Sherlock or some such shit. “How can you be positive?” 

Louis drops his spoon into his bowl with a clang. “Look around, Liam,” he says throwing his arms out to the sides. “There isn’t exactly much for him to take. I think I would know if i was missing one of my, like, 10 worldly possessions.” 

“So, what,” Liam asks, sitting at the table and raising his brow. “I’m supposed to believe he’s just some ridiculously good samaritan. What a superhero?” 

Niall takes another bite of cereal and looks up at Louis, waiting for his answer. 

Louis pillows his head on his arms and speaks into the table. “Maybe he’s my Fairy Godmother.” 

“What,” Niall asks around his cereal. “Stop mumbling.” 

Louis heaves a sigh and pulls his head up, propping it up on the palm of his hand. “I said maybe he’s my Fairy Godmother.” 

Liam blinks. “Are you high,” he asks, eyeing him with scrutiny. “Did you smoke already this morning? It’s only just gone nine.” 

“Fairy Godmothers aren’t real,” Niall says matter of factly, sipping his tea. “And if he’s a guy I’m thinking he would be a Fairy Godfather.” 

“But you do believe in fairies,” Louis asks, leaning forward. Trying to ignore how ridiculous he sounds. The look of disbelief on Liam’s face is not helping. “Right, you believe in them?” 

Niall nods. “Well, yeah. Fairies are real. But not those twinkling ones with the carriages and shit,” He waves his hand vaguely towards the tv like Louis had recently been watching Cinderella. “They don’t make you food or tuck you in when you are blackout drunk. They give you gout for building too close to their homes. Fairies aren’t nice mate.” 

Louis stands up and strides over to the windows, frustrated. Through one of the windows, he watches a mum walking down the street holding the hand of a little girl with pigtails. 

“So what,” Louis says glumly. “It’s like Liam said, who would be doing all this nice shit for me.” 

“Well,” Liam says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s murdered someone ages ago and now he’s trying to make up for it by doing nice things for strangers.” 

Niall sputters on his tea violently, spitting some of it across the table. Louis spins around and looks at Liam, wondering genuinely what is wrong with him. 

“What is going on in your brain?” Louis shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. 

Liam looks between them innocently. “Well, I’m just saying...I mean.” 

“You’re just saying that I’m being stalked by a murderer,” Louis shrieks, voice threatening to crack. 

Niall runs a hand through his hair in disbelief. “He was probably looking for a positive explanation, Liam,” he points out. “Not a reason not to bloody sleep without a gun.” 

Liam pouts dramatically. “Sorry.” 

Niall gets a paper towel to mop up his mess, chuckling under his breath. “Unbelievable, honestly, this kid.” 

They spend the rest of the morning throwing out ideas, but by lunch, they are no closer to figuring out. Luckily, Zayn shows up and tells them it’s stupid to dwell on things that the universe has yet to reveal to them yet. 

And while Louis thinks that's possibly the largest load of shit he’s ever heard in his life, he lets the issue drop. 

* * *

 

The bookstore is tucked in between two shops, quaint and old, it seems like it was built for the sole purpose of being home to books and solace for those that love them. Zayn and Louis walk through the store, pinkies linked in a sign of affection they adopted as boys that they just somehow never shook. 

“Do you see it,” Louis asks quietly, craning his neck to peer at the sea of book titles. 

Zayn shakes his head, looking across the way to the shelves on the far wall. “Maybe we should ask someone, is there a help desk?”

Louis laughs lowly. “It’s not a museum mate, I don’t think they’ve got an information desk.” 

Zayn shoves his arm, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. 

A voice behind them makes them both jump. “Can I help you with anything?” 

They turn and find a small woman, with sleek black hair styled in a bun, and a warm smile. 

“Um, yes,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “I’ve written a book actually, and it's supposed to be here.” He trails off without making his point, feeling a bit like he sounds like a pretentious ass. 

Zayn knocks their shoulders together gently, such a small movement the woman probably didn’t even notice, and then finishes the sentence for him. “We were wondering if we could see it, you know on the shelf?” 

The woman’s smile grows. “Oh how wonderful,” she says with a little clap. “Congratulations! What is your name, unless you've written it under a pseudonym?” 

“Thank you,” Louis says, blushing slightly. “I haven’t used a pen name. My names Louis Tomlinson. The.. uh the book is called Home.” 

“Oh,” The woman says in realization. “Yes, we don’t have that.” 

Louis is a little thrown by her cherry delivery. “I’m sorry?” 

Zayn leans against him a little harder, giving moral support, even though neither of them are really sure if it’s necessary yet. 

The sales woman rocks on her heels happily. “We don’t have that here in the store, it’s not on our shelves.” 

Louis opens his mouth and then closes it again, confused. “I,” he starts throwing a glance at Zayn. “Can I ask why?” 

For this first time, the sales woman looks a little confused. She furrows her brow while stepping to the side and letting a customer step by. “Well, we’ve not received any more.” 

“More what?” Louis asks flatly. 

Zayn interrupts before she can answer. “Are you saying the first shipment is gone?” 

She nods slowly, looking between the two of them. “Well yes, the first and the second. Have you,” blinking, she tilts her head at Louis. “Have they not told you? An online order came through for every single copy.” 

Louis's head spins. He is pretty sure he’s shaking while she continues quickly. “We’ve contacted your agent. People saw us packaging up the books from the first order and we were inundated with pre-orders for the second shipment. By the time it came, they were all spoken for as well.” 

Louis turns to stare at Zayn, letting out a floored laugh. “Zayn..” 

Zayn nods, turning and staring at him right back, mirroring his look of disbelief. “Holy shit,” he whispers. 

The saleswoman shuffles a little awkwardly. “Well, like I said, congratulations! I’m sure you’ll be in bookstores across London soon.” 

Louis laughs again, shaking his head and turns back to her. “Thank you, thanks so much.” 

She gives him a warm smile before walking away to help other customers. Zayn and Louis stare at each other again for a moment and then head out of the store in silence. 

It’s not until they are on the sidewalk that Louis snaps out of it. Lunging forward he wraps around Zayn and hugs him tight, feeling tears well up in his eyes when Zayn gives him a squeeze. 

As they start to walk home, Zayn pulls out his phone and taps away at the screen. After a moment, he sucks in a surprised breath. 

“Lou, fuck, listen to this.” 

Louis looks over and gives him a small hum in response. 

Zayn looks up from his phone for a split second with an excited smile and then drops them back down. “I could hardly put this book down once I’d started it, nearly failed all my exams! So worth it!” 

Louis looks over, with a furrowed brow. “What’s that?” 

Zayn reads another, without explanation. “This story is amazing! I loved every single word. I can’t wait to see what else this author has in store for us!” 

Louis stops dead in his tracks. “Are those.. Are those reviews?”

Zayn smirks proudly nodding his head. “There’s tons of them. They’ve all given you five stars on this site. They fucking love it Tommo!” 

Louis lets out an overjoyed laugh and punches the air. “I can’t believe it, holy shit!” 

Zayn shrugs a shoulder glancing at the ground and back up again. “I can,” he says seriously. “I can Louis. I knew you could do it.” 

Louis feels like his heart might burst. “I couldn’t have done it without you guys, you know.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes and starts walking again. “Oh, believe me, I know.” 

Cackling, Louis runs after him, catching up. The whole way home Zayn reads reviews to him, one better than the next. And in all the excitement, neither of them stop to wonder who had placed that first big order and started the whole ball rolling.

* * *

 

Someone is singing. Lowering the volume on the tv, Louis looks around the flat suspiciously. It sounds like, from somewhere right in his flat, there is a man with the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard, singing. 

Standing up, he slowly walks towards the kitchen, where the sound seems to be louder. Only it’s not coming from there, he realizes. It’s coming from the windows. 

Although it’s getting pretty close to winter, something has happened to the heating system. This morning Louis had woken up in a puddle of sweat and when he spoke to the Landlord he was informed that it was a building-wide problem that would be resolved shortly and that they only course of action presently was to throw open the windows. 

So the singing was drifting through his open windows off the kitchen. Maybe someone down on the street? 

He walks over and glances down, but is all the more confused when he sees not a single person. But the singing is definitely more clear from that vantage point. And as Louis listens, the sound of a phone ringing cuts through, and the singing stops. 

When whoever answers the phone says hello, Louis gasps. He knows that voice. He might not know it when it’s crooning, but he knows it when it’s speaking. One doesn’t just forget the voice of his fairy Godmother after all. 

Shuffling as closely to the window as he safely can, he strains his ears, trying to catch the conversation. 

And yeah it’s rude to eavesdrop but desperate times and all that. 

“Oh okay,” the deep voice says slowly, carefully it seems. “I hope he’s okay. Do you need my flat number?” 

Louis’s eyes widen his heart slams against his rib cage. This is it, he’s finally going to find out. 

“Um. Uh, yeah I can sign for it. But, I usually don’t have to.. Usually- oh. Okay I see.” There’s a moment of silence during which Louis thinks the conversation has ended, but the man starts speaking again. “Yeah, no it’s okay, I’m in number 28.”

Louis nearly falls out the window. Of course. _ Of course.  _ His fairy godmother is his super secretive, never ever before seen by anyone in the building, neighbor! Scrambling, he hurries across the living room and grabs his phone to text the boys. He freezes when he sees the date along the top. 

Monday. Grocery delivery day. 

That's what he must have been talking about, on the phone, his groceries being delivered. That's  a choice made then, isn’t it? 

Louis runs to his room, shoves on a jumper, shoves his feet into his trainers and marches out of the apartment. 

Standing outside of number 28, Louis is hit with a wave of nerves that he combats with several deep breaths. When he finally knocks, he hears shuffling inside of the apartment and he quickly ducks his head down, hiding his face just in case his neighbor looks out through the peephole. 

Louis almost can’t believe it when the door swings open. Harry Styles, the Harry Styles is standing on the other side of it. And he looks stunned to find Louis in his doorway. His eyes dart around wildly and he furrows his brow, trying to make sense of what is happening. When Louis opens his mouth, Harry pulls the door, trying to slam it shut as he had before, but Louis blocks it quickly with his foot. 

“Please,” he pleads. Harry’s eyes widen. Louis thinks his drunk self really can’t be blamed for getting stuck on the color and not realizing he was being tucked into bed by an international rock star. “I just want to talk.” 

Harry’s eyes roam his face.  He drags his bottom lip into his mouth and gnaws at it a little, contemplating. After what feels like a lifetime, he speaks. “Would you like to come in?” 

Louis’s jaw drops open comically. “Uh, yeah. Yeah mate, sure.” 

Harry nods and shuffles back, holding the door open for Louis and letting him pass through. Louis finds himself standing in a flat almost identical to his own, except for the expensive (matching) furniture, a wall full of guitars, and what looks like five water stains on the ceiling. 

At least Louis is winning in the rain leak department. 

“Would you like something to drink,” Harry asks, shuffling into the kitchen and looking over at him politely. 

Being that he’s standing in a flat with a man whose pretty high on the list of the richest bachelors in the country, and had been nominated as 2014 and 2015 sexiest man alive, Louis is pretty proud of his brain for still functioning. “Just water, please.” 

Harry nods and brings him a glass, gesturing for him to sit down on the couch with him. “I, um.” Harry clears his throat and looks at Louis a little guilty. “I mean, I assume you know who I am?” 

Louis fights back a laugh, trying not to offend him. “Uh yeah, you’re Harry Styles. I think just about everyone knows who you are.” 

Harry smiles, but it’s hollow, doesn’t reach his eyes and Louis fidgets, uncomfortable. “I’m Louis by the way.” 

“Yeah, um. Yeah I know,” Harry admits, gnawing at his bottom lip again. “The walls are pretty thin and when your windows are open..well I can hear just about everything.” 

Louis’s eyes widen. Jesus, good thing he wasn’t into some kind of crazy, kinky, loud sex. 

“Are you the one who's been doing nice things for me,” Louis blurts out, thrown off by the blush that sits high on Harry’s cheekbones. “The casseroles and such?” 

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. “I have, yeah.” And then as an afterthought, he adds defensively. “I’m not a murderer.” 

This time, Louis can’t stop a surprised laugh from slipping out. “Good to know, that. Thanks.” 

Harry blushes again, embarrassed. The sight takes Louis’s breath away. 

“Why do you live here, Harry?” Louis asks and then cringes. “Can I call you Harry?” 

Harry nods quickly, pulling his legs up to fold them up on the couch endearingly. “Yes, please, Harry is fine. Um, it’s kind of a long story.” 

Louis gives him a small smile. “I’ve got time.” 

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh and Louis feels a warm pull in his stomach at the sound. It feels like a victory. He takes a sip of water and waits patiently while Harry collects his thoughts. 

“I love music more than anything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember.” He pauses to take a breath and flick his eyes up to meet Louis’s. “But, one day I looked up and I was surrounded by people that didn’t care about me at all. Everyone had a hand out, or needed a favor, or wanted to hear my opinion into a microphone. But, when I needed someone, they didn’t seem to care.” 

Louis watches his face intently, fighting the urge to slid over and hold him in his arms. What a horrible thing to have to deal with. 

Harry continues on with a shuddering breath. “Two years ago I kind of lost it a little, went off the deep end. Stopped making music, cancelled studio sessions, broke obligations. My label sat me down and we worked out a deal.” He looks up with a bit of a wistful smile. “I moved here, where no one knew me and we put a hold on any and all promo, music videos, or performances. I record here, my bedroom is soundproofed. And..well I keep to myself. That way I know only the people I know I can trust are the only people around me.” 

Louis nods, taking it in. He leans forward slightly, looking at Harry in the eye. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He reaches out and touches Harry’s hand when he turns away. “Honestly, Harry. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know what to do without my mates. Having people around you, that you can trust, it’s everything.”

Harry nods, playing with one of his many rings. “They do sound great,” he admits and then smiles, dimples popping. “Especially Niall. 

Louis laughs at that, tipping his head back. “He’d be overjoyed to know.” 

They lapse into silence then until Louis can’t stand not to ask. “So, all the good deeds, the ones you weren’t doing because you’re a murderer?” Harry snorts and Louis gives him a wink. “Were they...like..are you trying to sleep with me or something?” 

Harry looks appalled, eyebrows shooting up to meet his hairline. “NO,” He shouts, shaking his head quickly. Louis blushes, a little embarrassed. Harry stammers, trying to backtrack. “I mean, you’re fit. I didn’t mean it like that. I just.. I didn’t know. I didn’t know what you looked like until you were drunk.” 

Louis smiles, deciding to put Harry out of his misery. “It’s fine, Harry. I’ve just never met anyone who does such nice things for...nothing.” 

Harry thumbs his bottom lip. “You’re not nothing,” He whispers. 

Louis hums, watching Harry. He might not be able to make him casseroles or spend huge amounts of money on his work, but Louis does have something to offer. “Well, young Harold, do you think you’re in the market for a handful of new friends?” 

The last thing he expects is Harry to smile widely and lean back against the couch, looking contemplative. “I just might be.” 

* * *

 

Its a couple weeks before Harry is comfortable enough to meet someone new. 

Niall is sat on the couch in the middle of writing a song when Harry and Louis walk in the door. 

Louis feels Harry stiffen beside him, thinks he might actually be able to hear his heart slamming against his chest. Louis wants to reach out and grab his hand, but they’ve never actually done that, and right now might not be the best time to try it out. 

“Niall, this is Harry,” Louis says, clearing his throat when he hears how shaky his voice sounds. “My Fairy Godmother.” 

Niall laughs loudly, starling Harry and gives him an obvious once-over, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Don’t look much like a fairy to me, mate.” 

Harry runs his hand through his hair nervously, knocking his shoulder into Louis’s. Maybe accidentally. Probably not. 

“Um, yeah,” Harry says with a nod. “No wings or anything. I’ve been thinking about writing a strongly worded letter to whoever is in charge of that kind of thing.” 

Louis laughs then, shaking his head at the special brand of humor. Harry relaxes next to him, turning to beam at him with pride. 

He always looks so happy when he gets a laugh out of Louis. Like it’s an accomplishment worth more than the plaques and awards that are collecting dust in his flat. 

“Alright Curly, sit down with Niall. He won’t bite,” Louis orders, nudging Harry forward with his palm on his lower back. “I’ll go get us some beers, yeah?” 

When he returns from the kitchen, Harry’s got his long legs folded up underneath him and he’s smiling openly next to Niall, while Niall strums at his guitar. 

When they get to a verse about a cactus and both dissolve into giggles, Louis figures he can put down meeting Niall as going pretty well. 

* * *

 

Louis sees Harry everyday. Either at his flat or Harry’s and Niall hangs out with them almost as often. He and Niall have fallen into an easy friendship built on talking absolute shit and writing ridiculous songs.

Due to busy schedules and probably just plain old fate Harry doesn't meet Liam and Zayn until two weeks later. Unlike how it had been with Niall, neither or Harry nor Louis had planned or prepared for it. 

Louis is in his bedroom, grabbing a jumper, while Harry scrolls through Netflix when he hears the front door open. He Assumes it's Niall. Until he hears their voices. 

“Um, hello,” Liam greets. Well, questions really. 

“What the fuck is going on,” Zayn demands.

Louis cringes and sprints down the hall. He slides into the living room in socked feet, chest heaving, and all three pairs of eyes swing to him. 

Harry looks positively panicked, one hand clutching the arm of the couch and the other pressed firmly into the cushion next to his thigh. He’s ready to run for it. Louis’s heart aches at the sight of Harry’s eyes bouncing around the room in search of an escape route. 

Louis moves swiftly, settling on the couch next to Harry and taking his hand. Squaring his shoulders he pins Zayn with a warning glare. “Zayn, Liam, this is Harry,” Louis says slowly. “My neighbor.” 

Understanding dawns over Liam’s face, and because he is the absolute worst friend Louis has ever had, he blurts out, “The murderer?” 

Zayn and Louis stare at him with identical looks of embarrassed disbelief, but Harry giggles, squeezing Louis’s hand. 

“I prefer fairy actually, if you don’t mind.” 

Louis groans, dropping his face into his hands. Zayn turns back to Harry with a genuine smile and drops an arm over a blushing Liam’s shoulders. “Nice to meet you, bro.” 

 

Niall shows up a little later with take out and beer. It takes about ten minutes of sitting around the table together before Liam cracks and practically begs Harry and Louis to explain what exactly the fuck the deal is. 

“So, the casseroles went over alright and I like cooking, so that was kind of nice.” Harry pauses his version of the story to pull from his bottle. “Then I heard Niall screaming at the top of his lungs about the laundry.” 

Niall blushed furiously and takes another bite of noodles. Harry shrugs. “It wasn't much of a problem to just finish it up for him. I didn’t want him to miss his meeting. And if you go late enough, no one is down there to spot you.” 

Louis stares at Harry while he explains. He’s hopelessly endeared. People like Harry, just really good people, they don't exist. Harry might not be a fairy. But, Louis hasn’t ruled out alien yet. 

“And the books?” Zayn prompts with a tilt of his head. 

Harry nods, chewing at his bottom lip. “Yeah, that was me too,” Harry confirms, glancing up at Louis. “I just wanted him to do well. And people buy what’s in demand. I learned that from my first album.” 

Louis smiles, popping a chip in his mouth. Harry tracks the movement sharply.  Louis gives him a wink, reveling in the blush he gets in return. “Good thing I’m a literary genius, otherwise we’d have a lot of disappointed buyers on our hands.” 

“So it was you who bought all of Zayn’s paintings, then,” Niall asks, ignoring Louis. Which is why he ends up in trouble, really.

Harry furrows his brow. “Uh no,” he says slowly. “No, I didn’t know Zayn was an artist.” 

Zayn is staring absolute daggers at Niall over Liam’s head. Liam turns to Zayn in confusion and Harry looks to Louis with a very similar look on his face. 

“Niall puts his foot in his mouth so often his shoes get waterlogged,” Louis says with a smirk. 

Liam’s eyes swing across the table at Louis for a half a second and then snap back to his boyfriend’s face. “What is he talking about, Z?” 

Zayn swallows, rubbing his hand over his face nervously. “I was going to tell you,” he starts, leaning towards Liam when he narrows his eyes. “Liam I was going to tell you,” he repeats. Pleads. 

Liam’s jaw ticks. “Tell me what, Zayn.” 

Harry shifts next to Louis, obviously uncomfortable. Maybe feeling like he’s intruding. 

Louis turns in his seat and shoves a chip into Harry’s mouth, rolling his eyes. 

Niall winks at Harry from across the table, unphased by the impending drama. 

Zayn had once accidentally destroyed one of Liam’s priceless comic books during a 48-hour art bend. Liam had locked him out of their flat for four days. This? This will blow over. 

“Someone bought the entire “Lifeline” collection at my last show,” Zayn says quickly words running together. But Liam understands if the surprise on his face is anything to go by. “And I, um. I used the money for a downpayment. On a house. The house. The one on Walnut.” 

Liam blinks. “My house,” he says slowly, quietly. “My dream house?” 

Zayn nods.

Liam’s chair plummets to the floor. “Take me home,” he breathes, yanking Zayn’s hand and pulling him up out of the chair. 

Niall cackles gleefully. 

Zayn smiles darkly and strides toward the door, pulling Liam along behind him. He’s through the door first and Liam stops on the threshold, looking back at the three men still around the table. 

“Nice meeting you, Harry,” Liam manages, just a second before Zayn’s hand comes back into view, gathering in the material of Liam’s shirt and yanking him down the hall. 

So. Meeting Liam and Zayn goes pretty well too. 

* * *

 

Their group expands to fit Harry so easily, it’s like he’d always been there. Harry still sticks to his place and Louis’s. Partially due to the anxiety, partially due to the fact that he’s an international superstar and would be spotted just about anywhere else.

That’s a fact that Louis has to remind himself of every once in a while. Especially when Harry’s giggling with Niall over dirty song lyrics or arguing with Liam about who’s the best Avenger. 

They’re friends fast, close friends, all of them. But, Louis would be lying through his teeth if he didn't say he felt more than friendly towards Harry. 

He’s not ashamed of his feelings. Who could blame him, really? The man is gorgeous. An absurd montage of long limbs and tattoos and muscles and dimples. 

Fucking dimples. 

He had felt a little foolish though, in the beginning. Sure that his feelings weren’t reciprocated. Pretty quickly though, there’d been enough blushes, stammers, and tension wrought moments to assure him it wasn’t a one-way street. 

But months had gone by and Harry still hasn't made a move. So while Louis hadn’t given up per say, he was starting to think maybe Zayn was right and Harry was worried about ruining the friendship. 

“Are you cooking,” Harry asks, walking through the front door and toeing off his shoes. “Should I call Liam or should all calls be routed through emergency services first?”

“Very funny, Harold,” Louis retorts, rolling his eyes. 

It’s only fajitas. He can’t catch fajitas on fire. 

Probably.

Harry laughs and shuffles into the kitchen to settle behind Louis and look over his shoulder, watching him chop. 

“Uh, Lou,” Harry asks, obviously trying to fight back a laugh. “Is this your first time?”

Louis elbows him halfheartedly. “Why, you promising to be gentle?” 

Harry chuckles and reaches around him, placing his hands over Louis’s and guiding the knife. 

Louis’s heart stops dead at the full body contact and then restarts again with a jump. He tries to take a subtle deep breath and will down the flush creeping up his neck. 

“Curl the fingers of your anchoring hand back so you don't cut them,” Harry instructs, pressing Louis’s fingers back. “Put the tip of the knife on the board and slide and back and forth, nice and smooth. Let it do the work for you.” 

Harry’s voice is so deep, almost hypnotic. Louis shifts back, without thinking, just an inch. His ass presses flush against Harry’s groin and they freeze. 

And they stay frozen. For about 30 seconds they stand frozen in the kitchen, Harry breathing roughly in Louis’s ear. Louis pressing his eyes closed and swaying slightly. 

Until Louis feels what he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt is Harry dick, thickening up against him. Louis lets out an involuntary whimper and Harry drops his hands away, scrambling back to the other counter. 

Louis turns around slowly, hands shaking at his sides,  and faces Harry. He takes a breath while Harry stares at him, eyes dark and jaw clenched. He’s just about to give them both an out. To open his mouth and brush it off. Make a joke. 

Harry’s faster. 

“Fuck it.” Pushing off the counter Harry strides back to him and pushes forward squeezing out every bit of space between them. Louis’s breath hitches and his knees threaten to buckle. Harry slides one hand around the base of Louis’s neck and the other anchors at his jaw holding him still, steady. 

The kiss is sweet at first. Lips pressed together softly, tentatively. Until Louis slides his hands into Harry’s hair and tugs.

Harry groans and Louis takes advantage, licking into his mouth and turning it dirty. Harry’s mouth is perfect, plush and silky in a way that makes Louis’s brain fog up, heat snap up his spine. His body boxes Louis in against the counter, stopping him from moving an inch. Louis doesn’t want to go anywhere, tells him so by grinding forward against him. 

Harry reaches down and hauls Louis’s legs up around his waist. 

“Finally,” Louis gasps against Harry’s mouth, latching his arms around his neck and holding on tightly. 

“Lou, baby,” Harry says between kisses,can’t seem to keep his mouth away for more than a second. “You have to- I need to know if we’re on the same page.” He tightens his grip on Louis’s thighs when he bites his lip. “Jesus Christ, Lou tell me we’re on the same page here,  _ please _ .”

Louis could slow this all down right now, put a couple of feet between them so they could have a calm, healthy discussion about expectations and feelings.

Or he could get fucked. 

“Bed. Bed, bed, bed, bed,” Louis pleads, detaching himself from Harry’s mouth to whisper the words in his ear. “Take me to bed, yeah Haz?” 

Harry growls and spins them away from the counter so quickly Louis would be dizzy if there was any blood left in his brain. 

He marks Harry up as he marches them down the short hallway. The hard muscles of Harry’s stomach bunch and tighten everytime Louis sucks a new bruise into his skin and as Louis lands on the bed with a little bounce, he thinks this will probably not be one of his longest performances. 

That’s okay though, judging by the slightly crazed look on Harry’s face as Louis strips, Harry won't be lasting very long either. 

“I’m not sure which book you’ve been reading, Harold,” Louis says, looking up with a smirk. “But usually this page includes  _ both _ of us being naked.”

Harry blinks and then startles slightly, seemingly realizing he's been standing at the edge of the bed and staring at Louis’s naked form. 

By the time he’s got his t-shirt tossed aside, Louis’s got the lube and condoms from the top drawer. He eases a slick finger inside, hissing at the slight stretch, while Harry shuffles out of his jeans. 

“Looking good, legs,” Louis says, only a little bit breathless at the sight of Harry’s dick, hard and huge curved up against his stomach. “Tell me, do you have to pay more for all the material it takes to cover up those things?” 

Harry’s eyes pull up from where Louis’s working himself open and land on his face. “Do you have to pay less,” he rebuts, crawling up the bed and over Louis. 

Louis narrows his eyes. “Just for that, I should hold out,” he threatens. “Make you go take a cold shower.” 

Harry pouts beautifully, leaning back to kneel and grab the bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers. “Aw, don't be like that,” he says, nudging Louis’s hand out of the way. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

Louis arches off the bed at the cool pressure of Harry’s fingers at his entrance, then inside him, finding his prostate almost immediately. 

Harry opens him up slow, kissing him through it, keeping light pressure on Louis’s prostate until he’s squirming so wildly Harry has to pin him to the bed with a huge hand against her hip. 

“Harry, I’m ready,” Louis says dragging his fingers up Harry’s back. “I swear, God I swear I’m ready.”

Harry kisses him quiet and pulls his fingers out, wiping the excess lube against his own thigh. He fumbles with the condom until Louis takes it from him and rips it open. Rolls it onto Harry’s dick with trembling hands. 

“Holy shit,” Harry says, pushing in and staring at Louis’s face with something like wonder painted across his face. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, dropping his head back against the pillow and breathing through the stretch. Jesus Christ, he’s big. 

Harry waits, still inside him, kissing up Louis’s neck and across his jaw line. Until Louis gets impatient and bares down, clenching around his dick hard. 

It gets him the desired effect. Harry snaps his hips forward with a grunt and fucks into him. 

It’s hard from the first second, punishing almost, sending the headboard slamming against the wall and shoving Louis up the bed. And it’s so so good. 

“Harry,” Louis gasps, latching onto his biceps and trying to catch his breath. “I’m gonna come, Haz.” 

“Yeah,” Harry asks, dipping down and claiming Louis’s mouth, “Gonna come on my dick, just from this, just from feeling me inside you baby?” 

It’s probably the overwhelming smugness in his tone that does it, has Louis’s body locking up and shaking while he paints his own chest with come. 

“Fuck, so beautiful,” Harry groans. His thrusts turn erratic, pressing in deep and hard, filling Louis completely. And it's a little sore now that he’s come but Harry looks so fucking beautiful like this, face pinched like it hurts, pupils blown wide and dark. 

Louis loops his arms around Harry’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, licking into his mouth lazily. “I been waiting forever,” He sighs, trying to ignore the way Harry is brushing against his prostate so steadily his dick starts taking interest in round two.  “Thought about you fucking me. Filling me up.” 

“God, you’re going to kill me,” Harry says, sliding a hand under Louis’s back and pulling him against his chest. Like there’s any way for them to be closer. “I think I love you.” 

Louis’s stomach swoops. He’s gonna give Harry shit about it later, for saying it while he’s balls deep in his ass and seconds away from coming. But he knows he means it, knows that he feels the same. “Yeah,” Louis asks, batting his eyelashes a little. 

Harry nods, picking up the pace a little, flaring his nostrils when Louis gives him another innocent bat of his lashes. 

Louis licks his lips. “Prove it.” 

Harry stills completely, dropping his weight onto Louis and pressing in deep, coming for what feels like forever. 

Louis pets at his hair and listens to his breath return to normal. Harry’s crushing him a bit but it’s a small price to pay for mind-blowing sex. So he’ll allow it. For the next couple of minutes anyway. 

Harry must read his mind, because he leans over onto his side, dropping his head onto the pillow with a huff. “You’re amazing.” 

Louis nods sagely. “Yes, I know.” 

Even he has to admit he deserves the pillow to the face. 

* * *

 

Niall’s life is in grave danger. 

It’s been raining for four days straight, Liam and Zayn are staying at Louis’s due to renovations. Last week, Niall’s flat flooded and he's also staying at Louis flat. It’s been raining for four days straight, all five of them have been cooped up inside one tiny flat, and Niall’s life, is in grave, grave danger. 

Louis is perched on the counter with narrowed eyes, watching him pace the room. He’s an active lad, Niall. Always out on the golf course or playing footie. So being cooped up doesn’t set well with him. But if he walks in front of the tv again, Liam is going to lay him out. 

Guaranteed. 

“Zayn,” Louis calls to the bedroom. “Green alert.” 

Harry looks up from the couch with interest, trying to figure out what’s going on. He likes the secret code words, the inside jokes the four of them share, even though he often has no idea what they mean. He told Louis once it’s like leveling up each time he figures another one out. Louis thinks maybe he’s been playing a few too many video games. 

Niall pauses his pacing when Zayn appears in the hallway, rectangular box in his hand. Zayn raises an eyebrow, a question, and invitation, waiting. A couple beats pass, then with a shrug, Niall hops over the back of the couch and plants himself on the cushion. 

“Might as well,” He says, stretching out his legs and dropping his feet into Harry’s lap. 

Louis hops down from the counter and ambles over to them and sits cross-legged on the coffee table so he’s facing Harry, Niall, and Liam on the couch. Zayn joins him, balancing the box on his lap. 

Harry rubs Niall's foot absentmindedly, an automatic reaction to having one of them within touching distance, and leans over to look at Liam. 

“What’s happening?” 

Liam just grins and nudges his chin in Zayn’s direction. 

Louis snorts at Harry’s disgruntled face as he swings his head back around to look at Zayn. He doesn’t much like not getting a straight answer, overgrown child that he is. 

The box opens with a little bit of a creak and from inside, Zayn procures a rolled joint. 

Harry sinks back into the couch, smiling openly. “Oh.” 

Niall laughs, nudging him. “This mate is what you call a code green.” 

By the fourth rotation, Louis is patting himself on the back for a choice well made. Metaphorically speaking of course, as he’s actually laying flat on his back staring at the ceiling, with no control of his limbs at all. But, the pacing has stopped and Liam is cuddled up against Niall as opposed to looking like he’s going to strangle him. So this is a clear win for Louis. 

Maybe Harry will celebrate with him later. A lick of heat makes its way up Louis’s spine at the memories of how Harry had woken him up that morning, sleep warm and wrapped up around him, sucking at the delicate skin behind his ear. 

Harry, as if roused by Louis’s dirty thoughts, shifts around on the couch a little and clears his throat. Probably getting ready to tell some ridiculous knock-knock joke. 

“I think I want to perform again,” Harry says, which is decidedly not a knock-knock joke. 

Louis sits up, limbs back under his command probably due to the sheer surprise of Harry’s announcement. It’s been six months since they’ve met, Harry hasn’t mentioned even thinking about getting back to performing. 

He still gets his groceries delivered for God’s sake. Louis’s behind him, of course, believes in him. It’s just a little sudden is all. 

Liam seems to be in the same boat. He pushes up from Niall’s shoulder and looks around the room, eyebrows scrunched up. “What, right now?” 

Okay, maybe Liam is just confused in general. 

Niall shoves Liam a little bit and shakes his head. But Liam doesn’t seem to be any clearer on the subject, so he leans towards him and whispers, “No mate, not right now."

Zayn takes a pull of the joint and watches. 

Harry’s eyes are locked on his fingers as they twist his rings around and around. He’s hunched in a little, trying to make himself smaller. Anxious, Louis realizes with a pang in the gut, he’s anxious and scared. Worried about their reaction, about performing. 

“So what’s the plan, then,” Louis asks, voice soft, making a conscious effort to keep his face open and neutral. 

Harry’s head snaps up and his eyes meet Louis’s. He blinks, obviously not expecting the response, and drags his eyes around the room, looking at all the boys. 

“Uh, well,” Harry says, biting at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know really. It didn’t really go so great last time, did it?”

Louis tries to think of something reassuring, something, anything, that will make Harry more confident. Bring back the Harry that struts around the flat absolutely starkers in the middle of the day with the windows thrown open. 

Zayn gets there first. 

“Yeah,” He agrees, taking another pull and nodding sagely. “But you were alone then.” 

Niall leans forward and snatches the joint, turning to Harry with it between his fingers. “Not alone now though.” 

Liam stretches his arm around the back of the sofa and ruffles Harry’s hair. “Nope, not even a little.” 

Harry’s eyes slide back to Louis’s, shiny with unshed tears. Louis gives him a wink and a small smile. “You’ve got us.” 

It’s been raining for four days straight when Harry makes a choice. 

* * *

 

“Let me just get this straight,” Louis says to the director, the tone of his voice so dangerous Liam takes a step to the side, out of the line of fire. “First you tell him you’re going to be putting him up 15 ft, then 50ft, then its 100ft max. Then I come here and my boy informs me that you are planning on hanging him from a bloody plane 1000ft in the fucking air.” 

The director flinches, taking a step back, which proves useless as Louis just follows, stalking him like a lion ready to attack. “Mr. Styles agrees that this creative change is the best direction for the video, the best direction for his art.” 

Louis nearly snarls, thinking about the look of pure terror on Harry’s face that morning as he’d explained the new plan. “Let me tell you something, there is only one direction. And that is my direction. I’m going to go bring him a cup of tea and calm him down. And if he decides he doesn’t want this, you had better not even dream about fighting me on it.” 

The director bristles but doesn’t respond until Louis has turned and is walking away with Niall and Liam flanking him. “And why exactly would I change my whole set design for one artist?” 

Louis spins around, yanking his arm out of Liam’s grasp. “Because it’s your fucking job pal, it’s your fucking job,” He bellows. 

Storming away, he heads towards Harry’s trailer. He, Liam, and Niall file in, finding Harry and Zayn sat on the couch- Harry’s head in Zayn’s lap while he strokes his curls. 

“Little bit of an anxiety attack,” Zayn murmurs, eyes locked on Louis’s. “But we’re alright now, aren’t we Harry.” 

Harry sits up slowly and nods, smiling warmly when he spots Louis. “Did you bring me tea?” 

Louis shuffles forward and hands it to him. Running a soft hand through his curls he speaks gently. 

“Do you want to do this then babe? It’s whatever you want. You know that.” 

Niall hops up on the counter. “Yeah, H. We can have Liam here hold you up by the armpits and we’ll just swing you over a puddle if you prefer. I’m sure Zayn can do some artsy shit to make it look exactly the same.” 

Zayn huffs out a little laugh and Harry turns to him, smiling with slightly shiny eyes. “While I know Zayn’s talent knows no bounds, I do want to do this.” 

Louis lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. “Okay then baby, I’ll let them know.” 

He turns to leave the trailer in search of the director and make it clear that should anything happen to Harry, everything will burn, but Harry stops him with a firm jerk to his wrist. 

Harry spins him, almost knocking him off kilter, and pulls him close. Pressing a soft but insistent kiss to his mouth. “Love you.” 

Louis smiles against his lips. “Love you.” 

He’s only just pulled away when the boys pile on top of them, making kissy noises. 

At the bottom of the pile, Harry laughs loudly. “Love you all.” 

Louis allows the love pile to go on for approximately two minutes before he starts pinching his way out of it. “Alright, come on you idiots. We’ve got a music video to make.” 

 

Fin. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
